Lightness
by keeponwritin
Summary: But instincts are misleading. [oneshot.]


A/N: A one-shot? Oh em gee! Yeah, I know this is typical of things when I first post them, but I don't really like this. It's... it's weird. Yeah, man. But hey, I don't own the Death Cab for Cutie song which this is named after. And I just don't own Degrassi, man. I just don't. Review me.

Oh, and uh, Rated T for references to sex. And drugs. (And teen partying!)

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I don't know what drives me, sometimes. I mean, I know I'm not the most social guy around, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't be doing more constructive things with my time on a Saturday night than this. And I could almost understand, if I had done something that warranted retribution, like JT had actually done a favor for me previously. Wishful thinking. JT would shoot himself in the foot before ever lending me the slightest helping hand. Wouldn't put it past him. It's not like we've even friends anymore. We seem to just have this mutual understanding between us, that we might as well stay public friends, as it's what people expect of us, and explaining to people the deterioration of the friendship would be too complicated and difficult. But as for a real friendship? Hasn't been there since the beginning of grade ten. And we'd been living on separate planes for years before that, so it wasn't entirely devastating. All of grade nine, he just pushed, and pushed, until I reached the edge and threw myself down, aware of the inevitable. That's why it hasn't been that weird. I still let him use me when I'm convenient. I don't really care. What else am I doing? It's my last year in high school, and I still haven't got a single real friend. After you've been living like that for even a short amount of time, there comes a time when you stop caring. And that came easily for me.

I still wished I were somewhere else, though.

My bleary eyes glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 1:47 AM. I shouldn't even be awake, I thought. The road ahead of me was dreary shapeless darkness. The quick streaks of white lights in the opposing traffic were the only things keeping me awake. The mellow music crackling out of the speakers in my souped-up Honda were putting my brain on autopilot. I just stared out across the fields and lawns and looked everywhere but the road, and managed to stay on nonetheless.

The soft moan from the backseat threw me off for a second. I was too tired to quickly recall that there was another human being in my car. I'd almost forgot about my cell phone ringing, the almost-inaudible JT screaming over loud music, the begging, and the dumping of a dead-seeming body onto the torn fabric of my car's backseat. I even had a slightly-inebriated Danny checking her pulse 15 times in a row, just so if I happened to get pulled over on the way home, I didn't immediately go from a speeding ticket to a murder charge. Every time I was reminded of her presence, I was reminded of what people have told me, and what I've told myself, for years: I was too nice for my own good. I never knew a person could be so aware of how their selflessness is so self-destructing, and continue to do it regardless. I hated being that way, though, because they put me in a category. And it was this category of "nice guys," which was essentially the category of "guys you'd take home to your parents but never even consider getting romantically involved with". And even that might've been pushing it with me. I couldn't even tell you how many "girl friends" I have now. I have difficult distinguishing the line between "friend" and "acquaintance" with everyone these days. Or maybe my standards for "friend" were just way too high. Who knows. The point was, even if they did find one day that I, I don't know, would actually make a half-decent boyfriend, I knew they would just brush it away. Hanging out with me occasionally was one thing; dating me was social suicide. Yet being the girlfriend of someone as self-centered and obnoxious as JT was considered a mildly respectable position. I guess that's the way the world of high school worked: it didn't.

Still, the writhing of a body in my backseat was distracting me. Every time I peered into the rear view mirror, I saw this image of her face, serenely unbroken, proving further that everyone really was oblivious to my innermost thoughts. I caught her eyes blinking slowly open and looking fearfully around for a moment. I wanted to let her know where she was and what was going on, but I knew most of it would go in one ear and out the other anyway.

"J... JT?" she cried out, somewhat hopelessly. "Where are you?" What she said was static, jumbled and incomprehensible. At least, it felt like that, like there were some barrier between us. I don't know. It all became kind of hazy after that. Was I supposed to pretend I was JT and keep her pacified, or identify myself and have her freak out some more.

"I'm here, Manny," I said, quietly. So much for the truth. When I glanced into the rear view mirror again, she was dazed and confused. I could see the inner conflict between her recognition of people and the intoxication. She seemed to sit back, and accept the situation before her.

Manny had never really paid me any attention. That was the misconception. That this power quartet of me, JT, Emma and Manny had been closer than anyone. JT was my best friend, obviously, and Emma was the object of my affections for at least junior high, if not longer... but Manny and I, we were just the sidekicks. And anything we ever talked about was over JT or Emma. I guess I didn't really give her any reason to pay me attention. I never paid her much attention either. She was Manny--innocent, naive, relentlessly nice. But when high school struck, it was hard to be a teenage boy _in_ Degrassi who didn't notice the new and "improved" Manuela Santos. But even though I'd never paid her much mind or even considered myself her friend, all of a sudden when she turned into the girl who wore tube tups and showed off her thongs, I was thinking, "This isn't Manny at all." But the more I pondered on it, the stupider it got. How can I claim to know who she isn't when I have no idea who she is? But years worn on anyway. And I dealt with the fact that innocent Manny, Manny-the-sidekick... that girl was long gone.

I glanced back again. She was lounging back, her knees' will to stay attached failing, her short black skirt falling backwards. Her thumb idly rubbed up and down her breastbone, alluding to the obvious lack of a bra underneath the deep purple "My Little Pony" tee. Her eyes seemed to be looking out the window, but they were somewhere else. Another galaxy, light-years away. Her deep eyes were reflecting the street lights.

"How was it?" I asked sarcastically, before I could wonder if that was a smart thing to say or not. I thought for a second she was faking all of this, and she got the joke, when a genuine smile began forming on her face. But it took a sudden turn to smug.

"I totally fucked him," she said, before a light giggle escaped her lips. I mustered up as much apathy as I could, and listened on. "I mean... I mean, he walks up to me, and like, he offers me a joint, but I'm like, I'm like... you want me. And we fucked. He wanted it." I guess, in retrospect, the only weird thing was just hearing her say it. I mustered up just a little more apathy to question.

"Who?" I said, shakily. She fidgeted a little.

"Craig," she spit out. There was silence. I didn't know if suddenly she lost her taste for talking of the subject, or she just got tired in general. But the mellow music continued on, until I felt my seat being pulled on. She had lifted her weight to put her head right next to mine, and my heartbeat continued pulsing hard. "He's such, such a fuck-up. He needs me. He... wanted it. More than me." Her dark hair fell onto my shoulder. Her hot, stale breath fell onto my neck. "No one gets me." Her hand suddenly reached around, running through my hair. It seemed like just a second ago Manny was in another world, and now she was here. It would be too easy, to pull over this car and pretend I'm JT and touch every inch of tantalizing flesh, turn over a new leaf just like she did, break from the mold and be a man for once.

I felt something warm drip onto my neck. A little sniffling sound went straight into my ear. Soon she was sobbing silently. With one hand still on the wheel, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, lent her my shoulder for the rest of the way home.

I really was too nice for my own good.


End file.
